


lascivious

by honey_sweet



Series: red dead drabbles [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 12:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18208334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_sweet/pseuds/honey_sweet
Summary: lascivious ; feeling an overt sexual desire





	lascivious

**Author's Note:**

> i wont lie i wrote this while drunk on a friday night and basically just spellchecked it the next morning so i apologise if its absolute shit :)

West Elizabeth was too cold at night for your liking. The wind which during the day spared from the incessant heat, threatened to chill mercilessly in the night. Although in the morning the sun would eventually rise to cast everything in a glow reminiscent to spring, it wasn't paid for by the hunkering down you did at night to avoid the chill passing over. Dutch seemed to like this camp more than he had any other, Blackwater was simply on his doorstep now. All manner of chaos could ensue over that. The prairie land itself was rather dry, so really only pronghorn and buffalo dared graze the land. Tall trees was always nicer to you, kinder on the temperature and the shade was plentiful. Beside you, though, Arthur didn't seem to care either way.  
That man, you discovered, could find a way to live pretty much anywhere. And, actually, he had.  
Armadillo, perhaps so far as Tumbleweed or Rathskeller Fork, or on occasion, Gaptooth Ridge. The man had travelled. With you, without you, with gang members or alone all the same- and though sometimes it took him days or weeks to return, he always did.

Not always the same person, but return he did.

Living mightily up to their name, the tall trees arched above, spired sentries of woodland reaching up above you to dwindle you to the size of a child in their domain. Boadicea plodded along leisurely beside your own mount, hooves sinking into the softened mud and quagmire of the land. This was merely a detour, a longer distraction before work pulled you and Arthur into Blackwater upon evening's discretion. It was a small job, fix up and it would all be so nice and tidily executed. Your pretty little frock aimed only to deceive or distract if that was possible. Saloon fix ups were always certain to provide the buzz of flaunting the law in a city, the thrills of robbing, liberating people kindly of their earthly goods; yet it completely omitted the danger of waiting on a roadside for a convoy, or bearing down on a wagon at full speed. The wild thrill of it all had blood up more often than not and there was always some form of happy ending.

That's what convinced you to cross the threshold into the saloon without a gun - too difficult to retrieve beneath layers of petticoat and linens. Arthur would do fine to protect you though lest anything happen. You can't deny the eagerness to simply take, take, take, and leave nothing behind, and Arthur knew better than to dissuade you. Better he get involved with it as well, that's how he saw it.

A hand to the small of your back, decency falsified but the genuine nature of the gesture was nothing short of real.  
''Make me proud then,'' He mumbled dipping his bare head to level the top of your ear in a hasty encouragement. It was odd to see Arthur without his hat occasionally, reserved for only the most serious of occasions where Hosea would dress him up and march him into a poker ring in the attempts to swipe oil tycoons of their well-earned sin money.  
''I always do,'' you return, and looking in the opposite direction you part at the doorway. Arthur decides card games would be his poison for the evening, and you decided heavy pocketed bachelors would be your poison instead. Karen's dress was the cherry on top of the sinful patisserie that was your body, dangerously eager to swindle and painted the most borderline image of barely decent that you could manage before even your own outlaw standards would kick in.  
Seated on the bar stools, it really wasn't long before vultures would circle the dolled up carrion. All dusty city trousers -unlike anything fitting of the dusty plains outside Blackwater itself- and shirts dishevelled from a clearly long ferry ride from wherever the riches rightly belong. This would simply be a stop before setting off again for Saint Denis, surely. Small windows here and there were what you _lived_ for.  
Surveying like the primal thief you actually were, you monitored Arthur grinning and piling his winnings up at his elbow. He looked good while playing his arrogant suited tycoon, you thought as you nursed your own whiskey - rolling the tumbler in your palm slightly.  
It was a shame you were so distracted, because the mild invasion of the room was so painfully subtle and parasitic that you didn't realise util the death grip was lurching into your stomach. _Something, somewhere, is wrong._ And you knew it, felt it

''And you are, miss?'' Drawled a duster coat. Dusted trousers like your own men from camp, spurred boots and leather brimmed hat for travelling the prairie. He was not off of any ferry heading to Saint Denis, and you knew it before he had even opened his mouth.  
''Ms Cornwall,'' you answered, level but knowing the snake eyes were peering at you as if they would recognise you in a second. Or perhaps it was the famous _scowl_ that came from the O'Driscolls you loved to hate so much.  
His gun was in the most predictable 'outlaw' spot imaginable: his right hip that was dangerously close to your crossed knees on the barstool.  
''Tis a pleasure, pretty lady.''He glanced around the room too quickly. _Amature._ He had the confidence of a man working alone for the first time thinking the world was his to destroy.  
''I'm sure it is, sir,'' you played, suddenly defenceless without the promise of a cunning metal companion strapped to your thigh and Arthur mightily distracted while doing his best to pocket winnings and move onto the next.  
''Now, pretty lady. I'm gonna raise some hell in a moment, so be a good girl and don't scream,'' He leant onto the bar with his rough clothed elbows, swivelling head side to side as he surveyed his hunting grounds. Arthur was gliding through the throngs of people and gradually, gentlemanly heading for you at your post.

You had very minimal time to prevent this _bastard_ from thieving away your own steals away from you and scuppering plans.  
''But, sir! What do you plan on doing? Please mister, leave me out of this!'' You whispered, moving towards him quickly and frantically shifting your stool forwards in feigned desperation. He was looking the other way, hands folded in front of him and elbows leaning on the bustling bar. This wasn't going to be something too difficult to handle, if he was going to be so unsuspecting. Arrogant men like him usually were. _Pride cometh before the fall._  
Arthur was on a collision course with the man, slow and impending. You shifted for an opportune window. The man turned back to you and played a pathetic smile across his lips.  
''Darlin', for someone so pretty, I'll make an exception. Just,'' He paused, shifting close enough to be within arms reach for the first time. ''Sit pretty and don't make a sound.''  
You nodded, the false dumbfounded expression on your face giving away everything he wanted. And that was when the little opportune window opened, like things aligning perfectly for a spilt second of bliss. Not giving away your initial grimace, you nudged forward to kiss the man, once then twice when you realised he wasn't distracted enough. He was lucky, he got to enjoy his moment of things aligning and giving away to a moment of bliss before the world came crashing down before him. With Arthur looking somewhat perplexed and a little uncomfortable to the side, you slid a sneaky little hand into the holster and placed another kiss, this time cool and metallic beneath the chin of the man before you. He simply seemed to freeze with the implications.  
''Now, in a moment I'm going to raise some hell, and you're going to sit pretty and don't make a sound, got it?'' You whispered, turning slightly to Arthur.  
''Looks like things are speeding up here,'' Arthur mumbled, sliding a hand under his tailored suit for his own revolver.  
_Raise some hell, indeed._

''Now, ladies, gentlemen. Me and my partner are going to relieve you of your money and valuables if you please. Don't try anything, because I can guarantee I'm quicker than you,'' Arthur began, swinging his revolver around, the piano being silenced flawlessly.  
With a stolen gun in your hand, you felt that same joyous giddiness of _taking and taking and taking_ without relinquishing anything of your own.

And that's exactly the way you found yourself on your return to camp, _taking and taking and taking,_ as Arthur was all there, heavy and insistent and hungry over you. Still dolled up and dressed like sin personified, he would throw aside his suit jacket and begin to slide his palm down from your knee to thigh, fingers leading the crusade. You would be fumbling sloppily with his bow-tie and shirt buttons from where you laid beneath him, pausing to leave hasty and messy, desperate kisses to his jawline. He would be kicking off his shoes and pushing your dress upwards until your lower half was almost entirely laid bare to him. His shirt would be pried off by your hungry hands then they would move down to the bigger prey of his belt buckles. Loud and lewd you were both caught in a desperate ridding of clothes as if they were on fire and you simply needed escape from it. He leaned back only to kick off his own trousers and allowed you breathing room to properly strip dress and petticoats, leaving only undergarments that looked oh so wrong all of a sudden. His hands devilishly roamed your legs again only to strip you of knee socks deliberately slowly.  
''You gonna make me proud again?'' He mumbled against your skin, leaving his intentions painfully clear if they weren't before this point.  
''Always,'' you replied, pulling him so he was back to leaning over you, domineering.  
''I wasn't too proud of your little stunt though, darling,'' He whispered, not quite meeting your eyes as he ghosted your neck with hidden threats instead.  
''I didn't know you were a jealous man, Arthur Morgan,'' you replied, threading fingers into his hair and looking over his shoulder at the canvas of the tent above you. He was working his way around your collar bones and making you shiver with anticipation. One of your hands would be in his blonde hair, and the other would trail down his bare back - pale and pure as sin itself.  
''Oh, I'm a very jealous man, darling. It hurt me so dearly to see you enjoying the company of a charming O'Driscoll.''  
''Didn't mean nothing,'' You defended, trying not to lose composure as his mouth worked slowly downwards between sensitively mumbled words.  
''You sure there? Looked mighty cosy,'' He commented, one hand shifting to bear weight properly while the other stroked deadly fire lines from navel to hip and back again.  
''I'm very sure, darling.''  
''I'd hate to be replaced so easily,'' He sighed, clearly having a hard time of maintaining his own composure.  
''I was thinking of you,'' You whispered, lips ghosting his ear and moving to trace the tender and fresh stubble down his cheek towards his chin.

That was apparently too much for him, as it was then he took matters into his own hands and invaded with previous permission. Skin to skin on a whole new level as he bore weight on one elbow and used his years of horse-riding to teach him how to ride something else entirely. He had one hand in your hair behind your ear, plunged into the wrist as if it were a river in the desert. His fingers curled when you threw your head back, loud and lewd and intentions clearer than a midday sky in summer.  
Nether of you had quite figured out how you liked the sounds just yet: while it was exceptional for performance in the moment to hear the utter _pleasure_ of the person you're sharing your body with, you had learnt before that the aftermath was not worth it the next day. Men smiling at Arthur and the women ribbing you about how _good_ he was in bed. He was, but you were a jealous lover just like Arthur and you didn't want other women being privy to his certain talents. Which, at this moment were currently having you under him, sweating in unison and both being caught between crying out and staying quiet even though it was _there_ and you left warming kisses to the exposed bit of neck you could reach while his head was on your shoulder, kissing paths of his own.

''Make me proud,'' he said again, and you could hear it in his voice that he was choosing to stay quiet to save the repercussions once morning came. And just as certain as it was that morning would come, you did too. Breathy, unsteady sounds and the spreading wetness between the two of you had him pulling away himself, leaving you feeling odd without his presence _inside_ you. He marked the untouched part of the cot with his own pleasure, knowing that it would clean easily, and if not neither of you were in the mood to care at that moment.  
Lying there, side by side yet closer than you knew was possible, you gathered yourself.  
''Come here,'' Arthur said between laboured breaths, gesturing for you to lie in front of him as he wrapped an arm around your middle. He kissed gently below your earlobe as his breathing slowed to normal again.  
''I like you jealous,'' you mumbled, reaching behind you to brush through his hair once more.  
''Do you now?'' He replied huskily, eyes closed against your skin as he adjusted the arms bound around your middle. ''He's a man I could get used to more often,'' you sighed, slowing realising how badly you wanted to just _sleep_.  
''As long as I'm the only man you're getting used to,'' He threatened, teeth grazing your collarbone languidly.  
''Only you,'' you confirmed.  
''That's what I like to hear,'' he said, gradually beginning to fall under a slumber himself.

West Elizabeth was too cold on a night for your liking. But at least this time you had something to hunker down for - the warmth of primal body heat next to yourself. Warmth of something else being there, the stability of it all. It may have been a very simple evening for your life, but the simple things kept the workings of your life running smoothly.

In the morning when the sun eventually rose to cast everything in it's yellowish glow of gold, Arthur wasn't there. That was usual for him but you had hoped that maybe for once he would stick around. Would that he could, you both knew that he was a busy man and his days were Dutch's just as his nights were yours.  
Deciding you had best return Karen's red and thoroughly debauched dress, you dressed and left your empty tent still heavy with the feeling of sin and intimacy from the night before.  
''Karen?'' You called, rounding the corner to the women's wagon.  
''What?'' She mumbled, cradling a glass bottle of whiskey clearly stolen from the crate behind Pearson's wagon.  
''I got your dress back, from the robbin','' you explained, waving it at her.  
''Nah, keep it.''  
''Keep it?'' You paused, looking at the dress in your hands.  
''Yeah we heard you get fucked in it last night, keep it,'' she laughed, throwing her head back and chortling with the other women.  
''Thanks.'' You mumbled, sheepish. 

You walked back to your tent again to hide until the shame had passed. Although really, you had to laugh as you looked down at that evil red dress in your hands.


End file.
